Glass Ashes
by StarryDarkSky
Summary: Murder coursed through her veins like a disease, consuming and destroying the girl she once was. Clover Grey is a thirteen year old girl striving to survive. With dark secrets she finds a new group, but her plans of fleeing are knocked down when she befriends a reserved redneck with a cutthroat attitude. (Daryl/Father/Daughter) (Most likely eventual Carl/OC)
1. Chapter 1

Glass Ashes

Chapter One:

Bitter

The ashes have stained my cheeks with a black dust, tear marks cutting through the mask. The glass in the fire is shattered into little tiny shards, the bones in the fire crumbling and blackened with ashes.

Broken sobs escape my mouth, hands trembling.

"Get up, girl." The man says gruffly, grabbing me by the back of my shirt and pulling me from my kneeling position by the put out fire, but throwing me on the ground once again. My body falls to the dirt with a 'thud'. "I said, 'up'!" The man's voice is full of rage, and I raise an arm to block myself from his hits.

"Don't hurt her!" My mother cries out, also sobbing.

"Quiet you bitch!" A member from the group hits her in the face.

"Mom!" I scream, but the last thing I see is the back of a gun hitting me in the face.

My eyelids feel heavy as lead, and I struggle to open them and keep them that way.

"Clover...wake up sweetheart, wake up." Mom's voice is panicked, everything blurry and dark, so dark. "It's me, sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay."

My eyes find my wrists, bound to the arms of a chair, facing Mom. My ankles are bound to the legs of the chair, Mom is tied up in the same way.

"W-wh-what's going on?" My eyes fill with tears of fear.

"We'll be okay." Mom says, pure terror in her eyes.

It sounds more like she is trying to convince herself rather than me.

Deep voices and footsteps clamber to us in the darkness, sounding metallic and bouncing off the dark walls. They're almost here.

"One last thing, sweetheart."

"Yeah, Mom?"

"I love you, Clover."

And then, the door flung open.

**One Year Later**

The sunlight streams through the windshield, shining into my eyes and onto the beige leather seats of the truck.

My muscles are stiff from the cramped position of sleeping in the backseat of a truck all night. Rubbing my tired eyes, I look around. Nothing. Just me and the silence of being alone.

My worn, yet sturdy backpack sits in the passenger seat, not holding much supplies. Grabbing it, I exit the truck and shut the door quietly behind me. The air is warm, and the silence is not settling well with me, fingertips grazing my gun in its holster.

One year.

One year of running, one year of hiding, one year of wasting tears on things not worth crying for.

A year.

It's strange looking back on myself a year ago, who I was, what I did, but now, the person I was is gone forever. She will never come back, she is in the past.

I guess we don't really think too much about who we've become.

I don't want to think about what I've done.

The horizon is an orange haze, the asphalt beneath my feet absorbing my footfalls, trash littering the roads and tumbling softly from the light breeze. A beautiful day. The tree leaves shuffle together, the smell of the outdoors filling my nostrils.

A sharp alarm slices through the peacefully quiet outdoors, loud, making me cringe. Gunshots reverberate in my eardrums, invading my head. My fingers find fistfuls of my chocolate hair, my body shaking.

Snarls and growls emerge from the woods, lots of them. More than I can handle. The walkers are closing in on me, and the only thing I can do is run towards the sounds, hoping they'll save me.

Running into the woods, little branches whip me in the face, thorns snagging at my arms, legs and face also. Blood droplets drip down my face from the cuts the thorns have given me, almost as if I am crying the red liquid.

I trip over the roots of a tree, falling to the dirt but quickly rising to my feet again.

A walker protrudes from the trees, grabbing my left arm. Unsteadily, I make a grab for my knife. The smell of my human flesh and warm blood gives the walker a feral look in its dead eyes.

The walkers flesh around its mouth has been torn off, the rotted remnants jagged and torn. Its hair is stringy and lax against its grey, pungent skin.

Rotten hands squeeze my arms so hard the bones feel like they're crushing. I turn to try and break from its grip, but failing. The fingers of my left hand find the handle of my knife, pulling at it.

The walker throws me to the ground, my knife finding my skin.

A stinging on my right forearm makes me cry out. When my arm had come uncrossed, the knife dragged over my forearm, cutting me.

Stabbing the walker, I run, blood leaving a trail in the leaves behind me. The thick liquid smells of rust almost, smells salty. It coats my hands and arm thickly, eyes dotting with tears. My breath is heavy, legs still pushing to run for the sounds.

But the sounds have faded away, and I keep running for the bright clearing ahead of me. The last gunshot had been a couple of minutes ago, the sounds of hungry monsters following me.

Bursting into the clearing, a massive prison is revealed to me. Without thinking, I run towards it, my best bet of surviving.

I see people. Real people.

I run as close as I can get, silence overtaking everything, everything blurred. My body feels heavy.

My fingers find the chain linked fence, weak eyes gazing out to the people. I almost say something, anything, just a word, to let them know I'm here.

_Almost._

A shrill cry stops me.

A baby.

A living being.

A moment.

It's all it takes.

All it takes to bring me back to that bitter moment.

Back to _**then**_.

**Author's Note: Hello everybody! I know this isn't very good, maybe a bit rushed, but I promise it **_**does**_ **get better, despite how hard it is to believe. This is my first fanfic so don't be too hard on me, please. Tell me what you thought! I really hoped you enjoyed.**

**-StarryDarkSky**


	2. Chapter 2: Photographs

**Glass Ashes**

Chapter Two:

Photographs

_**WARNING: This chapter, and more to come, will have dark themes in it, I apologize if it isn't your thing.**_

**One Year Before**

"You think you're so much better...don't you?" The man's voice is rough, sinister. I can hear him, the sizzling of the skin, the whimpers against the gag as the brand cooks the flesh. "But...we all do bad things...sometimes to survive...sometimes for fun." The smell of the blistering skin makes me sick.

My wrists are bound together, latched onto a chain connected the ceiling. My feet can't touch the ground, and I dangle, weak and defeated. Tears sting and leak from my eyes, sobs muffled by the gag in my mouth and tied around the back of my head. It's so dark...and I hear faint sobs coming from all around, but mostly, I hear the deep voice of my captor, him branding people.

I can see the metal glowing red and yellow in the dark.

"You ain't, you're just another shattered soul. Your time will come, when you do something vile. And deep down, somewhere inside, that monster will awaken, and you'll realize you liked it...maybe just a little more than you should have."

A wretched sob presses against the fabric in my mouth.

"Shhh-shhh-sh-sh-sh-shhh-shhh…" The man comes into my view, bloodied finger pressing to the gag. His face is slightly wrinkled, his evil grin missing some teeth, the rest slightly blackened and yellowed. "You a pretty one ain't cha?" The words make my heart rise to my throat, my stomach curl, and mouth go dry. The finger trails from the gag, down my neck, and to my collarbone. "You ain't fully grown…" His smile is sick, and I want to do anything, kick him, bite him, spit in his face, anything to harm him- but I'm useless. I can't move, can't breathe, I can hardly think. "There's always somethin' so sweet about the little ones...so innocent. Adorable. Your big eyes will do just fine…"

My shirt is pushed up to beneath my chest.

He heats the brander, the metal glowing brighter. He steadies it, aiming for my left side ribs.

"This will hurt a little bit Darlin'." He chuckles, showing no remorse. "But I like a squirmer."

The brander is pressed to my pale flesh, feeling as if the skin is on fire.

It's almost like burning yourself with a curling iron, but times a million.

There is no words to describe the pain.

A scream of agony and hatred rips my throat raw, and I struggle against my wrists latched to the chain and hook.

I head butt the man in the nose- hard.

The brander clatters to the ground, the man grabbing his face in pain.

"Agh!" He bellows. "You dumb bitch!"

His nose drips blood, lips pulled back to reveal his disgusting teeth. Spitting the blood on the floor, he looks back into my wide eyes.

A dark chuckle emits from him.

"You're gonna pay for that."

His fist connects with my right side temple, and I only see black.

**Present Day**

Sometimes it's all way too much. Just every little piece of being alive, is far more overwhelming than anyone could imagine. It feels like I'm constantly suffocating, aching for another breath in the sea of my clouded thoughts and tears. My memories hard waves pushing me around, bruising my ribs and knocking any trace of air from me. I always want to surface, fight desperately, try to get a breath of air, but it's impossible.

I wonder what it's like to surface and take another breath.

My eyes fling open.

My arm is stitched and wrapped in gauze, looking fresh and clean in contrast to the rest of my bloodied and dirt smudged skin.

The bed beneath me has some blankets on it, worn and faded, the walls a dull gray. Standing up, my muscles are tense. My vision is clouded with black spots for a moment, making me feel dizzy and dehydrated.

I remember falling. I remember gunshots following and the broken man's face in my blurred vision.

I remember a man going crazy and taking off into the prison despite the protests of others.

I remember the baby. Crying.

The thoughts of the baby makes me feel sick. It makes me remember things I tried to push to the back of my mind.

"You're awake." A voice says, sounding tired.

A man, with white hair and a white beard is at the door. He is missing a leg, The weight the leg used to carry supported by wooden crutches. His blue eyes shows years of age and experience, each of the wrinkles on his face seemingly there with a purpose. He looks like a man with a story.

I suppose we all have stories.

"I am." I reply, walking to the bars. My right hand grabs a bar, trying to push the door open, but the restriction of the lock stops me. I try to jiggle the door a few more times, but fail.

"It's locked, but you're welcome to keep trying."

My throat goes dry.

What if it's like last time?

To keep from looking crazy, I refrain from tugging at my hair. I shake my head, trying to will the thoughts away.

I can almost feel the blood on my hands again. Wiping them on my jeans, as if the blood was really there, I place them around the bars to keep them from shaking.

"Open it." My voice shakes, not sounding authoritative as I'd wanted it too.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." The man says.

No...it can't be like last time. It just can't. Nothing can be as sick and disturbing as last time.

"Why? Why not?" I ask frantically, shaking the bars slightly.

"One, I don't have the keys, two, well, I'd have to talk to the rest of the group."

_Rest of the group._

I try to swallow but my mouth is too dry.

"Th-then talk to them! I'm- I mean- I need to go. I can't stay here- I can't, I can't, I can't!" My hands grasp my hair, taking short breaths that don't help anything. "I have to go...I have to go…" I mumble.

"Calm down. I'll talk to the group. Worrying won't help."

It won't, but being here won't either.

My eyes flash open once again, body lying heavily in the bed. This time, the air feels almost a little too cold, but nice against my hot skin, covered in thin sheen of sweat.

The cells are dark, the only light the pale glow from the moon, coming in lightly through the barred windows.

I can hear the baby whimpering, someone trying to shush it. The baby.

A figure emerges, a jingling noise coming from it.

A tall man, the broken man, he has the keys. His hair is long and straight, blue eyes holding the pain and secrets he holds back. His arms are muscle-y, a few veins straining against the surface of his skin.

I quickly get up from the bed, stumbling to the bars. The broken man unlocks the door slowly, creaking as it opens. The sounds reverberate off the empty space, and I stand there, dumbfounded.

"You gonna get out or what?" The man has a thick accent, rough, his blue eyes sad. His broad shoulders have a certain weight to them.

"Yes." I say quickly, stepping from the cell. The man shuts the bars, and I look around the dark prison. There's a lot of blood stains, cloth scattered on the ground.

Not a pleasant sight.

"My weapons-" I intervene as the man starts walking away. He stops, his back still facing me, waiting for me to talk. "I want them back."

He walks again, angel wings on his leather vest curving against his shoulder blades.

"Wait-" I take a step after him. "I want to know what happened here."

He turns his head slightly to left, almost looking back. He takes a breath, as if he is about to say something important. But, he only utters one word.

"No."

He walks away, disappearing into the darkness.

I don't sleep the rest of the night, I just sit in the corner of the cell I had been in, arms wrapped around my knees, face buried in them.

The memories come back, swamping my brain, the side of my ribs where I had been branded burning slightly from thinking about it. The skin is now in the shape of an 'x', the scar a gruesome puffy thing.

The thoughts make me dizzy and sick, bile rising in my dry throat but never exiting my mouth.

"You gonna sit there all day?" A soft voice asks, a sweet accent to it.

Slowly, I raise my head, my greenish brown eyes meeting her blue. Her blonde hair is in a loose ponytail, slightly wavy.

"Come on, we're eatin' breakfast now." She wrings her hands together nervously. "It's not much but...it's somethin'..."

I stare at her, untrusting.

"You'll be fine, everyone's real friendly…" She purses her lips, waiting for a reply. Coming up with no response, she holds her hand out. "Come on…"

I look at her hand, welcoming- almost too welcoming. Standing to my feet, I ignore the hand, following her to the mess hall.

"Everyone is a bit run down, tired. We just lost some people, it's been real tough on us so far...especially our leader, Rick. He just lost his wife."

"The baby...whose is it?" I ask.

"Rick's wifes. Carl, he's around your age, he's Rick's son, he's been puttin' up a brave face but we see through it. He took it bad, he was the one who…" Her voice trails.

"Sorry." I say. She sure shares an awful lot. "Why are you telling me these things?"

"Why not?" She replies.

Grabbing two bowls, she plops some rice into them, the rice looking too dry and sticky. She places two spoons in the bowls, and we sit down together.

"What about you? If you don't mind me askin'."

"What do you mean?" I ask, pushing the rice around.

"I mean...like, before you came here."

The words stab my chest, puncturing my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"I-..." My breaths are short, sputtery almost. "I-I lost my family. I've been alone for awhile now."

Lies.

"I'm sorry...I know what it's like. I lost my mom, my step brother…"

I say nothing, trying to swallow the sticky rice. My appetite is lost, so I say goodbye to the girl, and head back to the cell.

My bag is laying on the worn bed, frayed blue sheets wrinkled and ragged around the leather bag.

My hands find the flap, opening it. The weapons are gone, but my clothes and other belongings are in there.

Reaching towards the bottom, I feel the cool metal chain on my the item out with trembling hands, a lump rises in my throat. The silver oval locket lies heavy in my palm, nimble fingers finding the latch and swinging it open.

On the left is a picture of my mother, bright white teeth gleaming, her pretty brown eyes crinkle, her dimples that match mine showing. Her head is thrown back slightly, as if she is laughing, the background a pale blue, making her look like she is glowing.

Her hair is an orange brown, slightly curled naturally. The picture shows only her head and her shoulders, hair cascading further than the image reveals.

Tears prick my eyes, burning.

To the right is a picture of my father, who I've never met. He looks almost as if he is examining my mother's beauty, a small smile curving the edge of his mouth. His blue eyes are icy, holding something she can't see, and his dark brown hair is slightly long, tickling just above his ears.

I collapse to the bed, sobs wracking my body, holding the locket tightly in my palm as the tears come.

I wonder who the man in the photograph is that I never got to know.

**Authors Note: Hello lovelies! I am soooo excited from the amount of success this story has gotten! In just the first day I was almost going to burst because I was so happy from the positive feedback! I'm sorry I haven't updated in awhile :'( because I know what that feels like to be waiting. Anyway, I hope to be updating more often, I was super busy because my family is having some issues. PLEASE share this story somewhere or maybe just tell someone about it. Also, it'd mean the absolute world to e if you guys reviewed, I like how many of you liked it, but I hate having silent readers. I appreciate you all!**

**(Other info: To give you all a visual on what the mother looks like, I have casted Isla Fisher as the mom)**

**P.S **

**REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 3

Glass Ashes

Chapter 3:

**One Year Before**

My body lies sluggishly on the cement of the room, light shining through a small window. Two weeks, that's how long I've been in the dark.

The skin on the left side of my ribs is raw and blistered, pink and sometimes bleeding. It hurt's a lot.

Heavy footsteps approach me.

"Get up ya worthless piece of shit." The voice is gruff.

I don't move, I can't.

"Get up!" He kicks me in the stomach, and the wind is knocked out of me.

I cough, spitting out blood. My face is bruised and battered, sore and tender from the hit's I've taken. The scab on my lip opens up, blood dripping from it.

The man grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet, knees wobbly. He and another man drag me, while I try to regain my footing every once and awhile.

Everything hurts.

My dignity -what's left of it-, my bruises, my cuts, my eyes, from crying, and every other thing I can think of.

Everything is a searing pain taking away from the bits of my soul left.

We reach our destination, it isn't much really, just in the middle of a road. I can see gates around the small town. I also see men, mostly big and strong, and some women, fairly tough looking. The gates are pretty large, enclosing a small area, and they aren't much, but they're something.

Mom is being pulled over here too, and the men kick the back of our knees, facing eachother as we kneel.

I can't tell what it is in my mother's eyes, cruelty or sympathy. Maybe neither.

She has dirty and ripped clothes, face battered and bruised yet somehow still perfect in a sense. Blood stains her body, and I can see an 'x' mark on her faintly beneath the ragged cloth of her shirt, just where mine was placed.

"Now listen up ladies…" A man smoking a cigarette says gruffly, drawing smoke from it and releasing it, reminding me of when Mom smoked. "We ain't got room for two in this place, and we need to see which one o' ya got potential."

He drops the cigarette on the asphalt, some ash falling off it and the embers glowing slightly. He doesn't stomp it out.

"So, we want you, to fight to the death. Winner earns their keep." The man chuckles, a sick, ruthless chuckle.

"Please! You can't do this to us! Please, don't make me do this!" Mom screams.

And then it hits me, like a ton of bricks, making me lose my breath.

She has always thought of herself as some higher person than me, superior in all her shitty ways. A shitshow mother who dares to declare herself a good one. A whore, a junkie, a stupid bitch who needs to know her place. She demeans me, belittles me, makes me feel weaker than I am.

She has always been scared to let me know my real potential, she doesn't want me to know that I don't need her, and that I never have.

Too late.

"I can." The man replies, and with that, I smash my forehead into my mother's nose.

Blood drips from it quickly, and I grab her by her hair, throwing her into the concrete roughly.

The rage builds in my body, murder coursing through my veins and the enjoyment engulfing me like a red hot fire. Nothing has ever felt so good.

My fingers grasp the silver chain of the locket, tightening it around her neck to choke her. Her arms flail and she gets a good hit in with a rock, a tad smaller than my palm.

My hand pulls the chain tighter, but the necklace comes loose as she unlatches it, the jewelry skidding across the pavement.

She grabs my arms, trying to force me beneath her. My knee finds her abdomen, and I quickly mount her.

My hands make fists, killing machines, smashing her in the face as the blood gushes out and coats my hands.

I punch her for every time she has hit me, every time she has killed a bit of me on the inside, I punish her for what she has done.

Finally, I stand up, kicking her limp body.

I calm down, breathing heavily and sobs coming from my mouth, but no tears flow down my cheeks. I can't cry, I can't show any weakness.

Turning from my mother's body, a man with a tall stature grabs my wrist, turning my palm facing upwards.

The silver piece is in his hand, slowly dropping the locket into my palm.

"Souvignier." He says.

Present Day

The light shines in from the barred windows, casting shadows from objects in it's path. It's warm on my skin, tickling me lightly. The locket is heavy against my chest, my fingers tracing over it lightly.

The words said to me ring in my head.

'_Souvignier'_

'_Deep down, somewhere inside, that monster will awaken, and you'll realize you liked it...maybe just a little more than you should have.'_

I beat my mother to death, marred her beautiful face, and took her wretched soul to fuel my hate and anger.

I liked it…

I'm just another monster in this cruel world.

"You okay?" The girl whom I've learned to be Beth asks.

"I...I'm fine. Just thinking." I reply, shaking my head, trying to shake the thoughts out.

"About?" Her sweet accent comforts me.

"Before."

"Before what?"

"Before I came here." I admit, my fist wrapping around the silver pendant.

"If you don't mind me askin', why are you alone? I mean, most people didn't just start this thing alone unless they had to."

"I didn't. I started off with people...but I suppose you know how it goes, right?"

"Don't we all..." She says it like it isn't a question, making a bottle for the baby.

She gently places the bottle in the baby's mouth, and I try to forget about before...about the things I've done.

"She got a name?" I ask.

"No...not yet. We have all thought about it, but in such times like these...the circumstances aren't great. We're not all in the right mindset."

"I'm sorry...for the people you lost...I know what it's like."

"The baby is gonna have to grow up without a mom. Poor Carl and her lost their mom...I guess that's one thing Carl, her, and I have in common."

"You lost your mom?"

"Awhile back." She nods solemnly.

"I'm sorry."

"You lose your mom too?"

"Something like that."

"Sorry."

The silence is comfortable, but after awhile it is broken by the old man, Beth's father.

"Hey, Clover. We need to clean your wound."

I look down at my wrapped arm, biting my lip.

"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second."

"All the more charming." I roll my eyes, the thought of it hurting only now coming.

Following the man into a cell, I sit at a small desk across from him, plopping my arm on it.

"Has it hurt in the past twenty-four hours?"

"Well, Doc, I haven't exactly been conscious for the past twenty-four hours."

"Any pain at all?"

"No. Just a little sore, but that's it."

He unwraps the gauze, and a ghastly cut with stitches in it makes me grimace.

"It isn't a pleasant sight, but it'll get better."

"Eh." I shrug. "How bad of a scar?"

"Well, can't really say, but my best guess is pretty bad. Sorry."

"Add to my collection." I snort. "I'm used to them."

Hershel looks curious, putting some peroxide on a cotton ball.

"Collection?"

"Well, let's just say this is nothing compared to the other ones I've got. But that's our little secret."

"These scars..." He says in his southern, deep accent. "Where do they come from?"

A smile spreads across my face.

"Many places. If we're talking pre-apocalyptic world, then regular kid stuff. Falling off my bike, jumping off roofs, being plain stupid. The list goes on and on."

"And post-apocalyptic world?"

"Jumping out of moving cars...falling off a motorcycle, jumping off of roofs, among other things."

"And these other things happen to be what?"

"Bullet scrapes, stab wounds..." _Brandings_...

"How many times?"

"How many times what?" I ask, watching the cotton ball go over the cut and stitches, stinging mildly.

"How many times have you been stabbed or shot?"

"Three times scraped with bullets. Luck mostly. Stabbed once. Not so much luck there."

"You seem different than the other kids, you seem unfazed."

"I think I'm just more of a 'what have I got left to lose?' kind of person."

He wraps up my arm, and as I'm leaving, I look back.

"It's nothing by the way."

"Hm?"

"The answer is I've got nothing left to lose."

I lay back and watch the stars from afar, indulging the sweet air as some of the group sleep and some of them take watch.

I'm on the roof, a rather sweet escape, ignoring the groans and moans of the rotting and just focusing on the white specks against the midnight blue sky.

They glow with a purpose, and I try to make out constellations, something I have studied for a long time. Mom knew all about them, she helped me.

It kills me knowing what I did to her.

It was in the spur of the moment, but although the pain it has caused me, I strangely don't regret it.

"There's a ladder around back." A voice says.

I gasp, taken aback, my hand flying for my knife.

I'm relieved when it is just a boy, a boy with crystal blue eyes, a sheriff's hat, and brown hair. He wears a blue plaid button up and worn out jeans.

"You must be Carl." I say, taking my hand away from my knife and laying my head back on my bag, using it as a pillow.

"And you must be Clover."

"Why yes." I smirk, but suddenly remember his recent loss. "I'm sorry by the way. I heard-"

"It's fine." He says, a distant look in his eyes. He is close but so far away.

"Yeah..." I say. "You want to join me?"

"I...uh...sure." He walks to near me, sitting about two feet away from me.

It's quiet for awhile, and we sit in silence.

"I lost my mom too."

He remains silent, but his head turns towards me.

"We...we went to a camp." I begin the story, but don't intend to tell the truth. "We...were interrogated. They beat us, cut us...starved us..." My eyes sting with tears, remembering the horrible things I did when I joined them, and the things they did to my mom and I before that. "They sat us in front of each other, made us choose who was going to die. But...my mom was so desperate to kill me...she _wanted_ me dead..." The story I tell is similar to the truth. "And then they handed me the gun..._and I did it_! I pulled the trigger and...she was completely fine when I did it...she wasn't bit...she wasn't hurt...she was okay and breathing and I did it...it was _my_ choice!" I say, gritting my teeth.

"I...I'm sorry..." He says softly. "What was it like after that? If you don't mind me asking."

"She was just gone...nothing more. I knew I'd never see her again, speak to her again, but at the time it didn't hurt...it was just it, and that's all."

"That's how it is for me too." He whispers.

"You're lucky your dad is some leader, strong. He may be a bit out of it right now, but he'll come back."

"What about your dad?"

"Maybe he is out there somewhere, kicking walker ass...or maybe he is not as brave, or maybe he is just dead...or maybe he could be one of those walkers on the fence. I don't know."

"That sucks."

"I'm used to it." I shrug.

After that we sit in silence, and I stare at the moon, a beautiful crescent moon, glowing white and beautiful.

The sun streams down from the baby blue sky and onto the roof, where I fell asleep.

I look to my right, Carl gone.

I fall back onto my bag, sighing. The air is warm, the ground below bearing long grass, a pale green from being dried out from the Georgia heat. Flowers bloom in disarray, small patches of little tiny white and purple flowers, an occasional dandelion here and there.

Glancing to the other roof, I put my bag on my back and jump to the other one, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush. My mouth curves into a smile, and I break into a run, hopping from roof to roof, ladder to ladder, free running. Something my mother taught me. It was something I was always better at her than, and I took much pride in it.

Showing off a bit, I do a somersault on the ground before my feet touch the ground, and I quickly push up, jumping on the ladder. I climb up it quickly, jumping to a watch tower, looking down at the clapping and whistling, bursting with pride.

"Hey Spider Monkey," A rough voice says. "How about you go down to the fence and help with the walkers." Daryl says, still not very happy, but maybe impressed.

I nod once, and take a regular route down the ladder.

"Looks like someone's getting popular around here." Glenn says, an Asian guy.

I shrug, walking to the fences with him.

Grabbing a rusted metal rod, I position it, looking a walker in the eyes for a second.

Closing my eyes, I jam the pole into it's eye.

**AUTHORS NOTE**: **I am so so so so sorry! I haven't updated in awhile and I feel so guilty. I'm not gonna make excuses. I'm sorry! I'm going to try and start updating maybe every Saturday. But I will have to see. Please review, although I might not deserve it.**


	4. Chapter 4: Unknown

**Glass Ashes**

**Chapter Four:**

"You want to be apart of our group?" The man laughs, whittling his knife into the table.

"Yes. I can do it. What do I have to do?"

"Oh, Darlin' you already earned your keep, but I guess if you want to be a part of this...you gotta get the group branding." He chuckles.

"Branding?"

"That 'x' you got on ya... That is just so we know you been here if you escape...but this..." He lifts up his right arm, a puffy scar, in the shape of an 'x' is on his wrist. "This is the group branding. You get this, it's your badge of honor."

"What does it mean?" I raise an eyebrow.

"You get it on your dominant hand, it means that whatever come your way, you will exterminate."

"Get the brander. I want it." I say bravely, ready for the hot metal to burn my skin.

When I get back from picking the walkers off the fence and burning their bodies, I clean myself up.

Wetting a cloth, I wipe it along my hands neck and chest, grab my brush from my bag and pulling the knots out of my hair with it. It remains wavy, but to keep it from getting snagged by walkers I put it in a side braid, and decide to change my clothes.

Some black skinny jeans with rips on the knees and thighs, bought that way. I pull them on, throwing my dark blue jeans onto the bunk. I throw on my short sleeve T-Shirt, a baby blue and tight, a soft fabric. I pull on some fresh socks and lace up my brown combat boots, my fingers finding my locket, almost as if on instinct.

"Clover?" I hear a voice call.

Peeking my head out of the cell I've dubbed mine, my eyes scan for the person who called me.

"Beth?" I call back.

"We're eatin'." She says, nodding her head towards the back room.

I follow her back there, buckling my holster around my waist, putting my gun and knife in their places. I finally got them back.

Our footsteps echo softly, and I take a seat next to Carl, giving him a small smile.

Daryl eyes us from the steps, and I just ignore him. Beth hands us some oatmeal, cold and clumpy, but we can't be picky.

Using a plastic spoon, I scoop some into my mouth. It tastes bitter, and it's cool and mushy in my mouth.

Chewing and swallowing, I take a sip of my water, looking at the others calmly eating.

Carl doesn't eat.

"Everyone okay?" I hear someone ask. Rick walks through the door, coming towards us.

"Yeah, we are." Maggie says.

"What about you?" Hershel asks.

"Cleared out the boiler block." Ricks says.

"How many were there?" Daryl cuts in.

"I don't know, dozen, two dozen. I have to go. Just came to check on Carl." Rick grips his son's shoulder assuringly.

"You don't have to. We can can help with the bodies."

"I do." Rick says.

Carl looks down, and I feel sympathy for the boy.

"Does everyone have a gun and knife?" Rick looks around the room.

"Yeah, we're running a little low on ammo, though. Maggie and I were thinking about going on a run. Get some more supplies."

"I'll go too." I cut in, and everyone looks at me. "I'm good with a gun, I spent a long time on the road alone. I think I know what I'm doing. Besides, I'm starting to get cabin fever."

"Are you sure?"

"Well I don't exactly have someone to refer to for permission, so yes. I'm kind of in charge of myself these days."

"Okay. All three of us will go. We'll watch her." Glenn says to Rick.

"I don't need it but sure..." I roll my eyes.

Everything is packed up, and we are getting ready to drive off in a rust red truck.

People are hugging the others goodbye, and I just bite my lip as I watch them, they actually have someone who cares about them.

Beth approaches me.

"I know we ain't known each other for long, but please be safe. I'd like to see you drivin' back up that road with 'em."

"I will. I know how to be safe, and I'll help if anything goes wrong."

"Okay." She says, and walks off.

"Alright, we're loading up." Glenn slaps the side of the door, and we hop in.

We drive down the road, through the gates and even further. I watch as the trees fly by in a blur, the rumble of the truck lulling me to sleep.

_"Please! Please spare my children! Kill me if you have to! Just don't hurt my children!" The woman begs, tears filling her eyes._

_The barrel of my gun is aimed in her and her children's general direction. Her hands are up and her son holds her small baby, the small thing letting out shrieks and cries._

_The boy is small, maybe around seven, blue eyes wide with terror._

_"Mama!" He drags the word out, trembling._

_Their camp isn't much, a tent and a worn out fire pit. Ashes black and the logs crumbling._

_"P-please! Please!" The woman begs, and then looks towards me. "You. You must spare us...please!"_

_I almost let my gun down, but I change my position, trying to look more tough; unfazed._

_Axel leans down to my ear. Axel is the leader of the 'x' group._

_"Feel no mercy. Bear no mercy. Exterminate." He whispers roughly. I aim my gun, closing my eyes. _

_My finger finds the trigger...ready to squeeze._

"Hey, wake up!" Glenn shakes me awake.

I wake up, sucking in air quickly. My body is trembling and Maggie and Glenn look at me, concerned.

"I...I'm fine." I say in barely a whisper.

"Uh...we're here." Maggie says, and we unbuckle our seat belts.

We exit the car, and we look around a bit. No walkers.

Readying our guns and aiming our flashlights, Glenn pulls open the door.

Bats fly out, and I quickly duck, waiting for them to pass. Maggie and I chuckle a little, standing upright again.

Shining my flashlight into the place, my eyes land on a rubber ducky.

"Glenn get that duck." Maggie smiles.

"What?"

"A kid growin' up in a prison could use some toys." She says.

They continue talking, and I zone out, thinking of my childhood.

Mom would go out, drinking, smoking, doing drugs. Left me at home as little as three years old. She was even gone for days at times. But as I grew older, she left for weeks on end, never much food in the house.

I went a long time not eating, so now I'm used to going without a meal. They cut our power off when she wouldn't pay the bills, and she sold things for money, so we didn't have much. I was embarrassed of my own mother. I hated myself.

I still do.

The only toy I ever owned was a teddy bear. Apparently my father gave it to my mother some time before I was born. She shoved it way back in her closet when he left. Whenever she was gone I would look through things that she shoved into the back of the closet, and I was desperate to have something to do.

When I had found the bear, I had sobbed mercilessly, even though I was twelve. I never had a toy, and it hurt that I was deprived of the little joys in life. I was deprived of my childhood.

I always took care of the bear, made sure it was clean, never on the floor or anything. I made sure Mom didn't know I had it.

But one day I hadn't been careful, and she came into my room, saw it, and tore the arm. I had screamed and cried at her, thrashed and kicked.

She slapped me in the face.

After that she drank herself to sleep, and I used her old sewing kit to mend the bear's arm. I was infuriated. I cried for a long time after that, clutching the bear tight to my chest and stroking its soft fur.

The memory kills me, and I remember the bear still wrapped in my sweater in my bag at the prison.

"Looks like we hit the powdered formula jackpot." Glenn says, pulling me back to reality.

He holds two red baskets in his hands, containing formula.

"She sure won't be going hungry anytime soon." I smile.

"We should get home now." Maggie says.

"And where is it you folks are callin' home?" An unfamiliar voice asks. It's deep and southern; menacing.

A man aims a gun at us.

The man appears, face wrinkled and blood dripping down it. Where his right hand should be is a metal contraption with a knife on it.

"Merle?" Glenn breathes out. So he knows him.

The man laughs, slowly crouching down and placing his gun on the ground.

"Wow..." He stands again, coming forward.

"Hey! Back the hell up!" Maggie hollers, jutting out her gun more.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Merle says raspily.

I adjust my weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, holding my gun tighter.

"Yeah you like that? Found a medical supply house, patched myself up. Could you tell me something? Is my brother alive?"

"Yeah. He's alive." Glenn responds, looking at his arm uneasily.

"Could you take me to him?"

"No. You wait here we take him to you."

"You can trust me!" Merle tries.

"_You_ trust _us_!" Glenn says roughly.

They exchange a few more words, my head swirling.

The gunshot brings me back to life, but I don't move.

I shoot back, skimming Merle's arm.

He tackles Maggie, holding his gun to her head.

"Don't!" Glenn says menacingly.

"Come on, Glenn, we're going for a little drive. You're driving."

"We're not going to our camp."

"Nah, we're going somewhere else."

So we do.

We pile into that rust red truck and head into the unknown.

**Authors Note: I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, but please review. I've decided I won't post next chapter until I get three reviews at least. It's not a lot for you guys.**


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